


The Jungle's Heartbeat

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV), Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tarzan Fusion, Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, Consensual Sex, Crack, Developing Relationship, First Time, Fluff and Crack, Greg is a jungle man, JUNGLE ROMANCE, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mycroft is a very posh Jane foster, Romance, happy ending but there's some sad in there, it is tarzan afterall, jungle sex, mystrade, there is a magical lube plant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-19 02:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: A little bit of crack, a little bit of romance. Good for a read, a laugh, and warm fuzzy feelings. Mystrade meets Tarzan, and there is a magical lube plant. You've been warned.





	1. And his name….is Greg

**Author's Note:**

> This fic made me laugh so hard while writing it that I often couldn't see the screen. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Shout out to [TheArtStudentYouHate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtStudentYouHate/pseuds/TheArtStudentYouHate) for being my biggest fan while I wrote.

_Deep in the jungle there lives a man. He swings from branch to branch, living as one with the apes and the creatures of the trees and rivers, the vines and rocks. And his name….is Greg._

**

 

“Does he look dangerous to you?“

“Was it alone?”

“Yes. Sabor killed his family.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. There are no others.”

“Then you may keep him.”

“Kerchak, I know he'll be a good son.”

“I said he could stay. That doesn't make him my son. We will nest here for the night.”

“So um, whatcha gonna call it?”

“I'm going to call him Greg.”

“Greg? Okay... he's your baby.”

The gorilla paused, and bowed her head, nuzzling the child in her arms. “Yes. He is my son...”

**

“ ...I knew I was born for Africa, and Africa was created for-- “ Clayton turned on the shaking bush, shooting off a round.

“Clayton, Clayton, there you are, what is it? What is it? Are we in danger?”

“I thought I saw something.”

“Saw something? Oh! A hippopotamus amphibious, or a rhinoceros-”

“Professor Holmes! Don't move!”

“Yes, yes of course.” Mummy halted, looking up at the trees.

“Mummy? What's all the hullabaloo about?” Mycroft huffed, beating back the bamboo from his face with a scowl.

“Clayton’s asked me not to move. He saw something.”

Mycroft sighed, walking past her. “Mister Clayton, excuse me. My mother and I came on this expedition to _study_ gorillas, and I rather think your shooting might be scaring them off."

“You hired me to protect you, Master Holmes, and protect you I shall.”

“And you're doing a marvelous job of it, but we only have a short time before the ship returns. So if you don’t _mind_ -”

“Oh! Mycroft, Mycroft, do you realize what you're standing in? A gorilla's nest!”

“ Mummy!” Mycroft’s eyes widened, and he knelt down, examining the muddled leaves and branches.

“At last! Our first sign in days! Do you think the beasts could be nearby?” Clayton gave a sly grin, glancing around.

“Well, they could be. There's the evidence, you know,” Mummy said, kneeling down alongside Mycroft.

“Yes. Evidence.” Mycroft looked up, examining the forest around them. “Over there!”

“Yes! More nests! I see them!” Mummy clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh this is wonderful! I must mark these on the map!

“Just as you predicted, Mummy, well done.” Mycroft stood, handing her the map from his journal. “Now then. Mark this, and let’s carry on.”

“Oh, Mycroft, I love you!” Mummy marked the map, mumbling to herself as she started to head off.

“There’s no gorilla here. Perhaps we should press on.” Clayton followed her, looking around suspiciously.

“Indeed. Now we should keep heading west,” Mummy said, altering her course.

Mycroft glanced up at the treetops and sighed, going to follow them. He paused at a rustle of leaves, and then gave a small chuckle, squatting down. “And are you what all the fuss was about? Mummy! Come back, look at what I’ve found.” He opened his journal, smiling at the baby baboon, currently blinking up at him.

“Now just you wait, and hold still for me. Not quite a gorilla, but you’ll do.” He cleared his throat, adding a last few lines. “Now. What do you think?” he asked, showing the drawing off. “Goodness, I’m turning into mummy. Speaking to animals. What will-Oh! Why you little--Well, this is absolutely peachy. Come to study gorillas and I get my sketchbook _pidged_ by a baboon! Come here immediately! Return my sketch!”

He chased after the small creature, brandishing his umbrella. “Give me that! Oh come on now, enough of this. I want that paper on the count of three.” The baboon paused, and Mycroft smirked. “Yes. Now. One, two, oh look! Bananas!” The baboon bounced up, glancing around, and Mycroft snatched the paper.

“I can't believe you fell for that one. No, no, don't give me those crocodile tears.” Mycroft smirked as the animal gave a shriek and began to cry out. “What would your Mummy have to... say?” Mycroft gave a weak chuckle, backing away as one of the branches above him creaked with the sudden weight of a baboon troupe. “You see? I told you they'd be cross. Go easy on him, children will be children,” he said hesitantly. “Oh, what am I doing, you can’t even understand me.” He stepped back, and his boot landed on a branch, the crack echoing around the trees. “Oh damn!” Mycroft turned and ran, as the entire troupe came after him.

Panting, he rounded a corner, only to have his boots slip, sending him careening down into a deadfall. “No, no! I’m falling! I’m...flying? I’m flying?” Mycroft gave a little gasp, looking down as the trees rushed below him. “What?” He looked up, and gave a sharp squeal. “You! Unhand me! Put me down immediately!”

He smacked against the man’s wrist with his umbrella. “Do you have any idea who I am, you...you heathen! Put me down! I am Lord Mycroft Edwin Holmes! I-” Mycroft yelped again as he fell down onto a branch, padded by a pile of bouncy leaves. He rubbed his head, brushing off his suit with a scowl. “Honestly.” He glared at the man that landed beside him, head cocked. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t reply, simply edging closer, only to pause as a baboon jumped down beside him. He gave a little growl, and turned.

Mycroft’s eyes widened as the pair began to speak in a series of yips and grunts. “You...you’re communicating.” The man turned, snorting. He advanced on Mycroft again, and Mycroft backed away quickly, thudding against the tree trunk. “Now, just a mo-” He froze as the man sniffed a line down his body, and then snatched the drawing he’d tucked into his waistbelt, handing it off to the baby baboon. The creature made a noise of success, and the baboons disappeared almost as quickly as they’d come.

“Well. Thank you for that I suppose, but I really must be going now,” Mycroft said, standing slowly, and sliding away from him, boot slipping. “Oh! Mummy will be quite concerned, and I just don’t think that-eep.” He froze as the man pressed up against him, snuffling against his throat. “I'm trapped in a tree with a...a practically nude man...who talks to monkeys. I can’t do this...this is...oh. Oh, this is rather.” He gave a small, breathy whimper as the man’s torso met his. “I...oh. Oh. Oh! How dare you!” Mycroft shoved the man away, going over to the other end of the branch, straightening his suit once more. “Explain yourself! Before this _situation_ gets any worse!”

The man cocked his head at him, just as there was a loud thunderclap.

Mycroft gave a low groan, sinking down onto the ground. “Rather too late,” he muttered, as rain began to pelt them.

The man came a little closer, reaching out and touching Mycroft’s chin, tipping it to the side in interest.

“Stay back,” Mycroft muttered, swatting half heartedly at him. The man gave a noise of concern, and then trailed his hand down Mycroft’s arm and chest, examining him curiously. “What are you doing? Stop that! I say, that-oh!” Mycroft gasped, flushing and slapping at the man’s hand. “Stop it! That tickles!”

The man jumped back as Mycroft snorted, copying the noise he made.

Mycroft froze, eyes widening. “Do that again.”

“Do that again.”

“You can speak?”

“You can speak?”

“Stop copying me,” Mycroft scowled, leaning forward.

“Stop copying me.” The man moved to Mycroft. “You can speak? Do that again.” He grinned, and leaned forward, pressing his ear to the man’s chest. “Do that again,” he said softly. “Again? Again? Again? Again? Again?”

“That’s my heartbeat,” Mycroft said, watching with wide eyes.

“Heartbeat?”

“Yes. It’s-oh!” Mycroft gasped as the man tugged his head to his chest.

“Heartbeat,” the man copied, petting Mycroft’s hair in fascination.

“Yes, thank you. It's a lovely heartbeat,” Mycroft pulled away. “What’s your name?”

“What’s your name?”

“My name? Mycroft. Your turn.”

“My name? Mycroft.”

Mycroft sighed. “No, look. I am Mycroft.” He pointed at himself. “You are….?”

The man paused and then brought his hand to his chest. “Greg.”

Mycroft laughed. “How very English! Gregory? Gregory what?”

“What?” Greg cocked his head. “English?”

“Perhaps that was a bit too much. Gregory will do for now.” Mycroft shifted, wiping the water from his face. “How _am_ I going to get down?”

“Down?” Greg asked.

Mycroft pointed far below. “Down.”

Greg stood, and reached out, grabbing Mycroft. “Down.” He jumped down, Mycroft clutching tight as he let out a wordless yelp, eyes squeezed shut.

“Mycroft.” Greg nudged him. “Down.”

Mycroft cracked one eye open. “Well. It would seem so.” He straightened up, sighing at the state of his suit as he tried to fix the sopping fabric. A shot rang out, and he gasped, looking up. “Ah! Clayton!”

“Clay-ton?” Greg imitated the noise of the shot.

“Yes, Clayton. Oh, Mummy will be terribly worried. Can you take me there?” Mycroft said, pointing in the direction that the shot had come from.

“Clayton.” Greg nodded, and lifted Mycroft in his arms again, reaching for a vine.

“Wait, wait! Can’t we just walk!” Mycroft yelped once more, clutching Greg as they swung through the forest.

“Clayton,” Greg said, setting Mycroft down only a few moments later.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “No. This is camp.” He turned around, and then gasped. “Gorillas!” He stared around, seeing the miscellaneous animals currently destroying the camp.

Greg dropped down onto the ground, making his way over, making careful noises as he did. One of the gorillas moved forward, responding in kind, and giving a huff, gesturing away as she sat back on her haunches. Greg went to reply, only to pause as a large silverback came into view from the trees, giving a low growl. Mycroft took a few paces backward, gasping as he did. The gorillas all backed away, disappearing into the trees with worried noises. Greg replied with a growl of his own, raising up to shield Mycroft, giving what seemed a loud explanation. The silverback snarled, and jerked his head toward the trees. Greg snorted, and fell back to his fists, bowing his head, slowly following the gorilla away.

“Gregory?” Mycroft said quietly. “You...you’re one of them.”

Greg paused, and looked over his shoulder at him. “Heart-beat. One of them?” he asked, cocking his head.

Mycroft simply blinked as there was another loud rifle shot. Greg quickly hurried into the trees, lost in the shadows of the leaves and vines once more.


	2. A Loincloth? Good Heavens

“Mycroft! Mikey!”

“Master Holmes!” 

“Mycroft! where are you? Mycroft, oh, Mycroft, oh thank goodness!” Mycroft didn’t react to the voices, still staring into the trees. He jolted into awareness only as Mummy captured him in an embrace. 

“Good heavens, what happened to the camp?” Clayton said, looking around at the mess left by the gorillas. 

“Are you all right, Mikey? We've been everywhere looking for you. “

Mycroft cleared his throat, turning and gesturing wildly at the camp. “Mummy! I was walking after you and then... I was--little baby--little baby baboon, and went to sketch a picture. Suddenly the monkey started bloody crying, and I turned around and there's a whole fleet of them! There's an army of monkeys, a huge tree full of them, screaming at me! Suddenly, I was swinging in a vine, up in the air, swinging, flying, I was in the air. And we were all surrounded. And then! I was saved by a wild man in a loincloth!”

“A loincloth?” Mummy drew back. “Good heavens.” 

“Yes! And he walks like a gorilla. He bends his elbows out like this, and then he walks like this. Oh damn, where is that chalk?” Mycroft muttered, kneeling down to pick out a piece from the rubble, going over to the chalkboard. “Look, see.” 

“Oh, I do! He walks just like Aunt Isabel,” Mummy exclaimed. “Oh, this is wonderful! What a discovery! A man with no language, no human behaviour.”

“And absolutely no respect for personal boundaries,” Mycroft said, tossing the chalk down. 

“What do you mean?”

“He was this close to me, mummy! Running his hand over my neck!” Mycroft huffed. “And, and he seemed so...confused at first.”

“Confused?”

“Yes.” Mycroft paused, and leaned down, taking the chalk again. He went back to the board, chalking in the eyes of the drawing. “He seemed confused at first, as if he's never seen another human before. His eyes were intense, and focused and…” Mycroft paused, setting the chalk down gently, staring at the drawing he’d completed. “I've never seen such eyes. This dark brown. They were...so deep, mummy.”

“Oh, I see. And shall I leave you and the chalkboard alone then?” Mummy asked with a small smirk. 

Mycroft scowled, and swiped his hand over the board. “Mummy, really! The point is, think of what we could learn!” 

Mummy gasped. “Oh! We must find him! Think of what he could teach us!” 

Clayton cleared his throat, finally looking up from where he was cleaning his gun. “Professor, you are here to find gorillas, not indulge in some childish fantasy. We must focus!” 

“Fantasy ? I didn't imagine him!” Mycroft glared at the man. “And I’m hardly a child at twenty years of age! Gregory is very much real!” 

“I rather think it’s more likely you were concussed than saw a _jungle_ man.” 

“Oh, really?” Mycroft gestured, arching his brow. “Turn around.” 

“What?” Clayton spun. Greg cocked his head and then stood, looking past the man at Mycroft and his mother. He moved, and Clayton shouted, gun swinging up. 

“No!” Mycroft lunged, and the gun went off, shooting harmlessly into the air. 

“Clayton.”

Clayton paused. “Do I know you? How does he know my name?”

Mycroft sighed. “He thinks it means the sound of a gunshot.”

Greg grinned, moving over to Mycroft, and then standing again, reaching out to cradle the man’s face in his hands. “Mycroft.”

“Yes, hello, mmm, Gregory.” Mycroft said, cheeks going a bit red. 

 

“I see what you mean about those personal boundaries,” Mummy chuckled. “He could be the missing link, Mycroft!”

“Or our link to the gorillas,” Clayton said, rubbing his chin. “Yes..You. Wild man. Where are the gorillas?”

“Gorillas?” Greg cocked his head again.

“Go-rill-as? Where are the gorillas!” Clayton snatched the chalk up, drawing a crude outline. “Gorillas!”

Greg shook his head. “Go-rill-as.”

Clayton shook his head. “Go-rill-a!”

“He doesn’t understand English, Mister Clayton. Shouting won’t do any good.”

“If I can teach a parrot to sing God Save the Queen, I can-”

“I’ll take it from here,” Mycroft interrupted, pushing past him, and ignoring the scowl he got. “Gregory. Come here.” He beckoned, and Greg eagerly followed, Mummy looking after the pair with an amused look on her face. 

“Tent,” Mycroft said, lifting the flap for him. 

“Tent,” Greg mimicked, lifting the other side with a smile. 

Mycroft matched his smile, and then cleared his throat. “Yes. Very good. Come along.” He ducked inside, and Greg dropped down to his knuckles, wandering in after him. He paused as his hand nudged a book, and he prodded at it, looking up at Mycroft. 

“That is a book,” Mycroft said, turning. He hesitated, then sat down on the ground, opening the book up. “Pirate stories.”

“Pirate?” Greg asked, scooting closer, and running his fingertips over the page. He made a noise of surprise, leaning down to sniff the pages. “Heartbeat!”

Mycroft smiled. “Do you like…heartbeat?”

“Like?” Greg thought for a moment and nodded. 

“If you like things..if things are good, you say, I like that. Or that is good. Not heartbeat,” Mycroft explained slowly. “Do you understand?”

Greg ran his knuckles over the book again, and then looked at Mycroft. “I like...book?” he asked hesitantly. 

Mycroft smiled. “Yes. I do as well.” 

Greg grinned. “I like heartbeat,” he said, pressing his hand to Mycroft’s chest. “I like book. I like tent!”

“Is that all?” Mycroft asked dryly. 

Greg cocked his head. “I like...Mycroft.” He nodded. “Mycroft is good.” He leaned forward, pressing their cheeks together. “Pirate?” he questioned, pushing at the book. 

“Yes.” Mycroft pulled slightly away. “Pirates.”

He started to read slowly, showing Greg the pictures and letters. Greg copied him, shaping his mouth to match Mycroft’s. 

Eventually, Mycroft closed the book. “Sorry. I have to stop. I’m getting tired.” 

“Tired?” Greg glanced outside, and made a little noise. “Tired.”

Mycroft cocked his head. “Tired. Night time.” He pointed out of the tent, copying the noise Greg had made.

Greg grinned. “I like!” He reached for the book, ignoring Mycroft’s protests as he flipped open the pages, and then shoved it back, pointing at a picture. “Name?”

Mycroft smiled. “Those are stars,” he said. “Stars.” 

Greg nodded. “St-ars,” he murmured. He looked up, and smiled. “Stars?” He reached out, tugging on Mycroft’s hand. “Come. Stars. I like stars!”

“Gregory, I really am, oh!” Mycroft let Greg yank him out of the tent, and across the camp.

“Mikey, where are you going?” Mummy called. 

“I’m not entirely clear on that myself, mummy!” Mycroft called back, gasping as Greg swung him up into his arms, and then clambered eagerly up one of the nearest trees. “Gregory! Where are we going?”

“Stars,” Greg replied, pushing aside a few leafy branches. He set Mycroft down on a wide limb, and then smiled. “Look.” He reached up, pulling some of the tree cover away. “Stars.”

Mycroft gasped, and sat down, staring up. “Yes. Stars.” The sky was swirled with deep hues of blue and violet, specked with threads of shimmering white stars. Hesitantly, Mycroft reached up, wanting to try to touch even though he knew better. 

Greg gave a content sigh, and sat beside him. “Like these,” he said, looking at Mycroft, touching his cheek. “In these, you stars.” He pointed at Mycroft’s eyes. 

“Eyes,” Mycroft said faintly, tearing his gaze away from the sky to look at Greg. “Stars in my...eyes?”

Greg nodded, and brushed his knuckles over Mycroft’s cheek. “Yes. It is good.” 

Mycroft blushed again. “I know you don’t understand what you’re saying, but it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.”

Greg rolled his eyes and thought for a moment. “Greg...understands. Greg doesn’t have words. Mycroft teach. Greg speak.” He gave Mycroft a long look, and then a small smile. “Greg teach. Mycroft speak.” 

Shocked, Mycroft gave a nod. “Ye...Yes. I will learn. I will teach you.”

“I will learn,” Greg parroted. He gave a large grin, and then laid down, putting his head on Mycroft’s lap. “Night time,” he said quietly. “Stars I like.”


	3. The Banana Is My Favourite Vegetable

“If we keep on like this, I’ll run out of books. We’ve gone through nearly fifty in the last two months.” Mycroft said. “What book today, Gregory?”

Greg looked around in interest. “Mycroft’s favourite please,” he said, smiling. “I want to know.”

“Well, I don’t have a favourite.”

“Everyone has a favourite. You are my favourite stranger. The stars book is my favourite book. The banana is my favourite vegetable.” 

“A banana is a fruit,” Mycroft corrected. “Well...I suppose I can show you the books I bought specifically for myself.” 

“Ok-ay.” Greg smiled, and followed him over to a different tent. “Mycroft?”

“Yes?” Mycroft asked, bending down, and fetching a case from under the bed. 

“Why do you not share a tent with Clay-ton and Mummy? Why do you sleep in this and not something with leaves?” Greg prodded at the mattress.

“Well,” Mycroft said, kneeling back with a huff of exertion. He wiped his brow off. “So damned humid here.” 

“You wear too much clothing.” Greg shrugged, turning to him. “Why a separate tent?” 

“Mm, well…” Mycroft wet his lips as he stared at the strong thigh that was currently inches from his face. “Well…”

Greg squatted down, looking him in the eyes. “Tent?” he asked again. 

“There are certain things that a young man wishes to have privacy for,” Mycroft replied hurriedly. “And after a while, mummy’s attentions can become grating and Clayton is simply boorish, so it was a simple choice to bring an extra tent.”

“Privacy?” Greg asked. “What is that?”

“Well, it’s...being alone with yourself sometimes.” Mycroft sat back. “Being able to think, and look at the world around you. Peaceful, hopefully. It is private. Just you and your mind and what you love.” 

“I understand this. I will show you my privates,” Greg said excitedly. 

Mycroft blushed. “Oh, no! No, no, not today I don’t think,” he said quickly, clutching at the strap locking the box. 

“Later.” Greg nodded. “Why does Mycroft not sleep on leaves?”

“Because I sleep in a bed.”

“It looks so strange. Uncomfortable.”

“Well, instead of insulting it, why don’t you try it?” Mycroft said, sighing as he searched the tent for the key to his bookbox. 

“Try it.” Greg shrugged, and climbed carefully onto the bed. “This is still strange.” 

“Lie down, Gregory.” 

 

Greg obeyed, gasping as he sank into the mattress. “Oh. Soft! Like sand.”

“But far less gritty,” Mycroft replied, successfully unlocking the strap and removing a book. He stood up, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Greg gave a content groan. “I can sleep?”

“I thought we were going to read? But we can sit in here, though it is dreadfully hot, and I’ll read.”

“Greg said before. Take off clothes.” Greg scratched at his chest, giving a little yawn. 

Mycroft cleared his throat. “No, I’m fine. Let’s see. This book is one we give to children. I’ve had it for a very long time. Would you like to try to read it?”

Greg grinned, and sat up. “Yes. Mycroft can help.”

**

“We´ve wasted all this time on what he wants. The boat could arrive any day. Now ask him straight out!” Clayton snapped, gesturing at Greg. 

Greg looked up from the book he was reading. “Ask Greg...Ask me what?”

Mycroft sighed, and went over to him, kneeling on the ground. “Gregory. We came here to see gorillas. To study them, and learn about them. Will you take us to them? Do you understand?”

Greg frowned, gently closing the book. “I...understand.” 

“Will you do it then?”

“I can’t.” Greg shook his head. 

“What! Why not!” Clayton threw his hat down, storming over. “Now you listen-”

Mycroft threw him an icy glare, cutting him off. “Gregory,” he said. “Why can’t you?” 

“Kerchak.” Greg shook his head, and handed the book gently to Mycroft. He got up, quickly disappearing into the trees with a glance back at the other man. 

“But-” Mycroft looked at where he’d gone, and sighed. 

“Kerchak? What does that even mean?” Clayton growled, throwing his hands up. “Fine! He won’t take us, we’ll track them ourselves. Madam Holmes, we are leaving tomorrow morning. Pack your field bags! The boat could come any day now, and I’m not leaving without a gorilla.”

“You do mean without seeing one, don’t you?” Mummy said, giving him a strange look. 

“Yes. Seeing one.” Clayton gave her a smile. “Don’t worry.”

Mycroft picked up the book, and returned it to his tent, smiling as he realized it was one of his guilty pleasure books, a romance story that Greg must have fetched from the box. He tucked it away, and got out his journal, planning to go sketch some of the local fauna. 

 

**

“Mycroft?” 

Mycroft looked up, smiling as Greg swung over to land beside him on the wide tree branch. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“No. Greg avoids Clay-ton. Do not trust Clayton like Mycroft or Mummy. But Mummy and Clay-ton left.” 

“Yes, well, he was the only one willing to come this way with us.” Mycroft set aside his book, hiding it under his leg, only for Greg to pick it up. 

“I like this one. They say heartbeat a lot.” Greg showed off the book, smiling. “Mycroft doesn’t read this to Greg.” 

“It’s...not an appropriate book to read,” Mycroft said, snatching it back quickly. 

“Because they mate in this book?” 

Mycroft flushed deeply, clearing his throat. “Yes. Yes, they do.”

“Are Mummy and Clayton mates?” 

“Oh good lord no. Father just stayed at home with Sherlock.”

“Sherlock is Mycroft’s brother. Yes.” Greg nodded, moving to lean against the tree beside Mycroft. “Is Mycroft mated?”

Mycroft shook his head quickly. “No..No.”

“No? Why not? Mycroft is pretty.” Greg looked at him in interest, leaning close. “Why?”

“I...Well...I am not…” Mycroft stammered, doing his best not to meet Greg’s gaze. 

“Mycroft hasn’t found a good mate. That’s okay. But Mycroft has mated before, yes? You are not child.”

Mycroft swallowed. “No, I’m not.”

“Greg has not mated before. No one wants Greg because he is different. But Greg knows how.” Greg tapped the book where it rest on his thigh. “It is not like this.”

“I...wouldn’t know,” Mycroft said faintly, still red, avoiding looking at Greg’s legs. “I...cannot...I do not go seeking mate- er...partners.”

“Why not?” Greg reached out, tipping Mycroft’s chin to look at him. “Does...Mycroft not want a mate?” 

“No, I do, I just cannot...I..” Mycroft lowered his eyes. “May I tell you a secret?”

“Yes. I will listen.” Greg smiled. “Do not tell others secret.”

Mycroft took a breath. “I haven’t had a mate yet. I haven’t had one because...I don’t like women.”

“Don’t like? But Mummy is nice,” Greg said, confusion etched across his face. 

“No, no. I don’t like...women in bed. To mate.” Mycroft inhaled quickly, looking at Greg. “Only men.”

“Oh. Why is that a secret? Many animals are like this too.” 

“What?” Mycroft drew back in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. Greg also is like this.” Greg smiled. “I like Mycroft. I think that he...you are pretty. I would be your mate.” 

“Oh...oh.” Mycroft blinked. “Gregory. I don’t think...think that…” 

Greg cocked his head, and reached forward, cupping Mycroft’s face. “Why think? Just do.” He leaned in, and Mycroft’s eyes slammed shut as their lips pressed together. 

“Oh…” Mycroft leaned in, hesitantly putting his hands on Greg’s shoulders. He gave a slightly muffled gasp as Greg’s tongue darted out, coasting the seam of his lips. He opened, tightening his grip on Greg. 

Greg smiled, and nudged him back, crawling over him to steal another kiss. “Mycroft okay?”

“V...Very okay,” Mycroft said breathlessly. He opened his eyes, looking up at Greg. 

Greg nodded, and kissed him again, running his hand over Mycroft’s leg. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He sat up, and Mycroft sat with him. “What?”

“It’s a secret. My secret.” Greg kissed Mycroft’s forehead. “I’ll come back later when the sun goes down. You will like it.” Greg lifted the book from the leaves and set it in Mycroft’s lap. “Yes?”

“Yes…” Mycroft said quietly, watching him stand.

Greg nodded. “Good.” He grabbed a vine, smiled at Mycroft, and then swung away. 

Mycroft took a few breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, keenly aware of his cock pressing against his trousers.


	4. The Aforementioned Plant Makes an Entrance

“Will you at least tell me where we’re going?” Mycroft asked, clutching to Greg as they swung through the trees. 

“It is Greg’s secret. Mycroft will know soon,” Greg replied. 

Mycroft groaned. “Fine.”

They landed a little later, and Greg took Mycroft’s hand. “Ready?”

“I might be if you told me where we were going,” Greg laughed. “You will like. It is the place I come to be private. Just me and my mind, and what I love. That is private, yes?”

“Well, that is what I said,” Mycroft murmured, staring in shock as Greg pushed aside some vines hanging over what he’d thought was simply a rock front. Instead, there was a small pond, dragonflies flitting over the surface, and back over to the flowers on the surrounding trees. A ways off, there was a drop, looking out over the river and the beach, the small clearing lit a brilliant orange with the rays of the setting sun.

“The water comes from underneath,” Greg said. “It is cold. Feels good on hot days.” He tugged Mycroft further in, the thick twisting vines hiding them away from the rest of the jungle. 

“Gregory. This is beautiful….” Mycroft breathed. 

“Yes. Just like Mycroft. I want to show you.” Greg put his hand carefully on Mycroft’s wrist, tugging him forward. 

Mycroft blinked as he was encircled in Greg’s arms, and they slowly sank to the ground. “Show me what?” he asked. 

Greg smiled. “Show you you are beautiful. And then after, show you stars again. Let me? I know Mycroft thinks of Greg at night.”

Mycroft blushed. “Perhaps a bit.”

Grinning, Greg leaned forward, kissing Mycroft. “Come swim.” 

“Swim? Really, Gregory, you must be joking!” 

“No.” Greg stood, tugging his loincloth off and tossing it to the side. 

Mycroft cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry as he watched Greg walk over to the water and slip in. “But...there must be bugs. Leeches. Flies!” 

“No. The flowers keep the bad bugs away. They don’t like it,” Greg said, gesturing with his head toward the trees. “Come swim.” He leaned on the edge of the rocks lining the edge of the water, propping his head on his hands. 

Mycroft shifted, fidgeting with his shirt. “Look away while I undress.” 

Greg rolled his eyes and turned away. “Too many clothes. Always sweaty,” he said, examining a different rock. 

Mycroft huffed. “Well some of us are a bit more used to civilized society,” he said as he undressed quickly, hands trembling just a bit. 

“Only civilized to you. Greg is civilized to Greg. Gorillas have civilized too, just not like Mycroft’s,” Greg said, stretching his hands above his head. “Different kinds of this thing.”

“Different, yes.” Mycroft swallowed, slipping into the water. “This is freezing!”

Greg turned around with a smile. “No. Freezing is...on top of the mountains. The...snow. You showed me that picture,” he said, swimming over to where Mycroft was clinging to the rocks. A dragonfly darted between them, and Greg held out his hand, letting the coppery colored bug land on his palm. “Look. Like Mycroft’s hair.”

Mycroft smiled. “I suppose it is.” 

The dragonfly lifted and flew away, and Mycroft suddenly gulped, realizing how close Greg was to him. 

“Is my English getting better?” Greg asked, reaching out, and touching his shoulder. 

“Yes. Much better.” 

“That is because Mycr-you are a good teacher. So maybe now...you should let Greg teach.”

“Teach me what?” Mycroft asked, cock twitching despite the cold water. 

“Teach you about mating.” Greg looked at him closely. “Greg will be good to Mycroft.” He ran his hand up Mycroft’s neck, thumb brushing over Mycroft’s adam’s apple. 

“What if I said no?” Mycroft whispered.

“Then we just swim.” Greg shrugged, taking his hand away. “Don’t need to mate. Just like being with Mycroft. Make me happy.”

“We’re just so...” Mycroft hesitated, then leaned forward, kissing him, “different,” he finished. 

“That is okay. We teach each other. We are same that way.” Greg sought out another kiss. 

Mycroft sighed, and leaned into him. “We are both men.” he muttered, kissing Greg’s neck once. 

“Yes.” Greg slid his hands over Mycroft’s waist, coaxing his legs around him, rocking gently together in the water. Mycroft’s breath caught, and he grasped Greg’s biceps, closing his eyes as he shifted his hips. “And I like men. I like Mycroft.” Greg nipped at the man’s throat, drawing a gasp from Mycroft. “I want to mate Mycroft.” 

“Oh lord.” Mycroft dropped his head back, panting slightly as his cock hardened even further, goosebumps covering his skin. “I want...yes, Gregory. I want you to take me.”

Greg made a small noise, almost akin to a growl, and lifted, carrying Mycroft from the water and toward the rock face, laying him on a pile of leaves. 

Mycroft propped himself up on his elbows, watching the water running down Greg’s chest with a keen, wide eyed interest. “Gregory. You...you realize I’m not a female. If you want to...mate me, you know that we’ll need..oh blast, how do I explain this...” He gave a frustrated groan. 

Greg cocked his head, and reached out, taking a plant from the surface of the rock. “This works to mate. I like it. See?” He broke one of the thick leaves open, a clear sap oozing over his palm. 

“That will do,” Mycroft said wetting his lips.

Greg smiled, and reached down, stroking his cock with a low moan. Mycroft hesitated, then reached out, touching his cock in interest, fingers dragging at his foreskin. “You’re bigger than I am.”

“Greg is not a gorilla. If Greg was, he would be silverback….leader.” Greg gave Mycroft a pleased look, guiding his hand over the crown of his cock with a small groan, then batted his hand away. He reached for Mycroft, stroking his cock. 

Mycroft bit back a whine at the heat of Greg’s hand on him, legs spreading automatically. Greg smiled, and nudged at Mycroft’s hips. Mycroft canted them up, and Greg pressed slick fingers to his entrance, exploring and teasing as he did. Mycroft moaned, head dropping down onto the leaves as Greg started to open him, the grassy scent of the plant mixing with their own musk. 

Greg watching Mycroft closely, interest and attraction bared to the slowly darkening sky as he rutted against the man’s thigh. “Beautiful Mycroft,” he said roughly, pressing three fingers deep into him. “Mate now?”

“Oh god, please,” Mycroft bit out, eyes open but unseeing in his pleasure. “Gregory. T...take me. Mate me.”

Greg gave a small rumble, taking his fingers from Mycroft, and kissing him deeply, claiming. 

Mycroft moaned against his lips, gasping as Greg pulled away, turning him onto his belly. “Yes.”

Greg tilted his head, pushing in with a slow groan. “Yes. Mycroft. Mine.”

Mycroft panted at the stretch, feeling his body open for Greg, taking in the thick member. His own cock was already dripping with precome by the time Greg began to thrust. He gripped at the ground, the leaves rustling and shifting under them as they moved. “Oh. Gregory. Oh. I can’t...so close.” He bit his forearm in order to muffle the shout he knew was coming, the pressure welling in his lower stomach too much to ignore. 

Greg grunted in understanding, shoving in harder. Mycroft cried out, coming in surprise as Greg struck something inside him. Greg leaned down, biting at Mycroft’s shoulders, marking him. He came, filling the man under him as Mycroft tightened around in response. 

They collapsed, Greg managing to pull out and lay beside Mycroft on the ground, smiling. “Good?” he asked, finally catching a breath. “Mycroft is okay?”

Mycroft gave a sated groan, turning to press his face in Greg’s chest. “Next time...we do this in my bed.” 

“Next time?” Greg asked, prodding him to turn over. 

Mycroft nodded, rolling onto his back and cuddling up to Greg. “Well...we may as well,” he said, cheeks coloring a bit, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into. 

“Good.” Greg smiled. “Now look.” He pointed up, the first stars sprinkled across the sky as the moon just rose above the tree branches. 

Mycroft smiled. “Beautiful.”

“Mycroft’s eyes. Stars,” Greg said in agreement, resting his arm around Mycroft. “Greg is...I am happy. With you.” 

“I'm happy with you too,” Mycroft whispered, tucking in just a bit closer.


	5. Well Worded Grunts

Mycroft startled awake to the crack of a gunshot. “Gregory!”

Greg jolted up into a defensive stance, listening. There was another gunshot, and the sound of a loud animalistic cry. Greg growled as a flock of birds flew up into the cloudy sky. “Mycroft. Stay here.” 

“Where are you going? What is it?” Mycroft asked hurriedly, standing and running after him. 

Greg paused, one hand on a vine. “Clayton,” he said, eyes flashing with anger, then swung away. 

Mycroft gaped after him. “No…” He looked around, and found the path down, rushing toward where Greg had headed, following the noises of the guns. Mycroft slid on a patch of mud, and landed with a grunt. He got back up, wiping the mud from his face. “Clayton! No! Stop!” he shouted, seeing Greg swinging into the clearing, and landing. 

The gun went off, and Greg fell back, clutching his shoulder, Clayton giving a maniacal laugh. “Protecting the gorillas are we?” 

Mycroft shouted again, running forward as he saw the silverback charging. “Stop! Clayton you brute!”

Clayton took aim, the bullet hitting its target, knocking the gorilla back with a growl of pain. 

“Kerchak!” Greg cried out, anger and worry filling his voice. He growled, echoed by a roll of thunder as he moved forward, advancing on Clayton.

Clayton laughed aiming the gun again. “No!” Mycroft lunged forward, shoving the gun up, bark splintering as it went off. Clayton snarled, shoving Mycroft aside. “Get away, boy.” Mycroft hit the ground with a dull gasp as the air was knocked out of him. Greg grabbed a vine, swinging over and knocking the gun from Clayton’s grasp. Clayton grabbed it, following Greg up a tree, taunting him as Greg climbed higher and higher. 

Greg leapt into another tree, trying to get the man as far away from the gorillas, from Mycroft, from the jungle as possible. Clayton followed, landing on the branch and advancing. “You’re going to die, jungle man. And then I’ll take all your precious gorillas and make a pretty penny on them.” He brought the rifle to bear, and Greg kicked out, knocking them both off the branch. Clayton grabbed a thick branch as he fell, pulling himself up. “Bastard!” he snarled, wiping off his bloody lip, diving for the gun just as Greg reached it, shoving the muzzle Clayton’s chest. “Go ahead,” Clayton smirked. “Shoot me. You haven’t got the guts. You’re not a real man.” 

Greg curled his lip, shoving the gun into Clayton’s throat. 

“Well. Go on,” Clayton smiled and then jerked, falling down as Greg mimicked the loud crack of the rifle. 

“I am a man,” Greg growled. “But not a man like you.” He shoved the gun aside, sending it crashing into pieces with the force of his blow. Clayton reached for his machete, lunging forward and knocking Greg from the branch once more, both of them getting tangled in the vines as they fought. 

“Clayton! Don’t,” Greg shouted, pressing back, pushing away from him, trying to warn him as the vines wrapped around his neck. Clayton snarled, slicing them away as he fought to get closer to Greg. “Don’t!” Greg leapt forward, too late as Clayton sliced the last vine, sending him falling.

The vines snapped tight and Greg hung there, the sky finally opening over him, rain pouring down as lightning cracked. After a few long moments, Greg moved, sliding down, making his way past the other gorillas to the silverback. 

Mycroft stepped forward worriedly, hesitating as he saw them communicating, one large paw resting on Greg’s shoulder. Greg suddenly stood, raising up on his legs and letting out an almighty roar, pounding his chest. 

The gorillas responded, and Mycroft fell back, suddenly very much aware of how different their two world were, how different he and Greg were. He raised his gaze to Greg, meeting the man’s eyes. Greg’s roar ended, and he dipped his head, breaking eye contact as he dropped back to all fours. 

Mycroft sank to his knees, watching as Greg led the gorillas into the trees, the shapes disappearing in the sheets of rain.

**

“Mycroft!” 

Mycroft jolted from his reverie, hurriedly packing his books into boxes. “Yes, mummy. I’m nearly finished.”

Mummy poked her head into the tent. “Mycroft? Are you all right?”

“Fine, mummy.” Mycroft nodded, looking out the book in his hand, smoothing his hand over the stars etched on the cover. “Just fine.”

“Is this about Gregory? Hasn’t he come to see you?”

“No, mummy. He...He’s busy. He’s leading the gorilla’s now that Clayton…” Mycroft trailed off. 

“Oh Mycroft...he truly was special to you, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, mummy. He was...my only friend in a very long time.” Mycroft set aside the book, hurling it into the trunk with the rest. “I need to finish packing.” He stood, and escaped out of the tent, nearly running into the captain of their boat. “Apologies.” 

The captain nodded, entering the tent. “Mrs. Holmes. We’ll set sail at dawn tomorrow. We’ll be packed by then.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Mummy looked out the door at Mycroft, watching him go out and climb up into a nearby tree. 

**

Mycroft stared out over the beach, watching the waves as the men from the ship took the last boat of belongings out to load. He jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Gregory! You came…” he murmured, turning to face the man, trying to ignore the leaping of his heart.

“You’re leaving?” Greg asked, looking around at the movement, the boats pushing off from the beach.

“Yes.” Mycroft nodded, staring as the gorilla troupe came out, appearing from the trees. 

“No. Repeat after me,” Greg said urgently. He made a series of small grunts. “Copy me.”

Mycroft frowned, but did as he said. “What did I just say?” he asked, startled as the gorillas started to make excited noises, well aware of the stares of the sailors and his mother. 

“You said you will stay. Here, with me.” Greg tilted his head, catching Mycroft’s gaze. 

Mycroft looked at him, breath catching. “Oh,” he murmured, just before Greg kissed him, cradling his face with rough palms. 

Greg smiled. “I read many books,” he said quietly, looking at Mycroft. “They all say to ‘court’. I don’t...have these things. Parks. Wine. Jewelry. And I don’t think Mycr-you. I don’t think you want those things. I think you want different things. And I will try to court. But do you want me?” He reached out, plucking a flower from the nearest tree, and offering it to Mycroft. “We can be mates. Mycroft _can_ stay with Gregory. Greg loves Mycroft.” 

Mycroft hesitantly took the flower. “Gregory…I...I have to go back to London,” he said weakly. “Mummy and Father..Sherlock…..and my schooling…” 

Greg looked at him helplessly. “So. No? You won’t stay.”

“No. I can’t,” Mycroft said, blinking rapidly, willing his tears away. “I have to go.” 

Greg looked away for a moment. “Okay. You go. I stay. You...come back if you want to see me again.” He gave Mycroft a little nod. “I understand,” he said softly. “Mycroft...loves London more.” He leaned in, just barely pressing his lips to Mycroft’s cheek. “Go. It is okay.” He pressed their hands together, looking at their palms for a moment, then stepped back toward the gorillas. 

Mycroft clutched the flower tight, and moved back, walking down the beach. He bit his lip as he climbed into the waiting rowboat, facing ahead, toward the ship, not meeting his mother’s gaze.

“You know, Mycroft, dear. I can’t help feeling that you ought to stay..”

“Mummy please, we’ve been through this! I belong in England! With you, and father. With Sherlock, with people and, and-” Mycroft snapped, voice breaking at the end.

“And what about the other people? The person you love?” Mummy asked, nodding toward the shore. 

Mycroft started to respond, only for a breeze to steal the flower from his hands. He gasped, turning to grab it, only to watch it drift back into Greg’s hands as the jungle man scooped it from the sea. 

“You love him. Go, Mycroft.” Mummy smiled. “We’ll know how to find you.”

Mycroft gaped at her, and then turned, jumping from the boat. He half ran, half swam, Greg coming out to meet him, grinning wildly. 

They crashed together, caught in a desperate kiss. 

“Stay?” Greg finally managed. “Stay with me Mycroft?”

“Yes. Yes, Gregory.” Mycroft pulled back, making the sound from earlier, grinning and blushing as the gorillas started to celebrate. “I love you.”

Greg grinned, cradling Mycroft’s face in his hands. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


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